


Losing Something We Never Found

by kat_writes_stuff



Series: The Malone Alternatives [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood and Violence, Bloody Kisses, But Not the Good Kind, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Fist Fights, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Romance, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, neither kiku nor alex are good role models here, this is a very toxic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_writes_stuff/pseuds/kat_writes_stuff
Summary: "I just keep on hopin' that you call meYou say you wanna see me, but you can't right nowYou never took the time to get to know meWas scared of losin' somethin' that we never foundWe're running out of reasons, but we can't let goYeah, Hollywood is bleeding, but we call it home."A more violent alternative to Changing Seasons.
Relationships: Japan (Hetalia)/Original Female Character(s), Japan/Singapore (Hetalia)
Series: The Malone Alternatives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690465
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Losing Something We Never Found

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's been a while! Everything's crazy right now, but I'm still doing my best to finish my fics so that you guys get something to read amidst this chaos. 
> 
> Also, I SWEAR I'll get the next chapter of For The Ones Who Could Live Forever up soon;;;
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy this more violent alternative to Changing Seasons (which for some reason is longer than CS too). If you haven't read Changing Seasons, you should read that fic first before proceeding with this one.
> 
> Remember to stay at home, and wash your damn hands!

Singapore can't remember how she got here. Bottle in hand, tousled hair, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, basically her usual get-up when she visited a bar. But the only difference this time was the lack of company she enjoyed, and instead, company that she would have never expected in the first place.

Bottle in hand, tousled hair, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Japan waved a shaky finger at Singapore's face, swaying in the bar stool he sat on. 

_"What's your problem with me, anyways?"_ The Japanese man slurred in his native language. The bottle wasn't even halfway finished but the effects of the drink had already taken effect on the light-weight.

_"You're always so mean to me... Last week you put salt in my coffee. SALT!!"_ He exclaimed indignantly, waving his arms around as alcohol sloshed out of the bottle and splattered onto the wooden floor.

_"Who does that to someone? I don't understand what I - Urp! - did wrong..."_

"Sober up a little and maybe you'll find out." Singapore replied curtly. Unconsciously, her grip around her glass tightened.

Lucky for them, they were the only ones occupying the shoddy bar, them and the surly looking bartender who looked like he was ready to hit Japan over the head with the mug he was cleaning for wasting all that perfectly good alcohol. 

_"Why won't - Urp! - you just talk to me?"_ Japan pleaded, his entire demeanour changing to one of desperation and whininess. Singapore’s fingers began to drum against the bar, her growing annoyance noticed only by the bartender. Japan continued to babble over her silence.

_“You’re always glaring at me o-or threatening to stab me whenever I talk to you..._

_"I HATE it when you do things like that to me... I just want us to be friends, for God's sake--"_

**CRASH**

Searing hot pain washed over Singapore’s hand and it was seconds later when she realised that she had broken the glass she had been holding. Rivulets of blood ran down her hand, dripping onto the mahogany floor.

“That’s it,” the barman fumed, slamming his glass down on the bar. “I want the both of you out of here! And don’t even think about coming back to my bar or I’ll call the cops on _both_ of you!”

Japan spluttered something that might have been an apology, but was yanked out the doors by his tie before he could say anything coherent. The moment he stepped out of the bar, a blast of chilly wind swept through his clothes, freezing him instantly. It was one o’clock in the morning in the vast city known as New York, and thanks to the hellish timing, no one was on the streets to see Singapore drag a struggling, clearly inebriated Japanese man into a dark back alley.

“A-Alexandria, please _don’t--_ ”

In one swift move, Singapore slammed Japan into the wall, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. His entire world had warped into a dizzying amalgamation of shapes and colours. The alcohol he ingested threatened to make a re-appearance, but he pushed it back down.

Moments later and Singapore’s hands were back on his collar, heaving him up before pushing him against the wall.

“Who gave you the right?” The nauseating smell of alcohol invaded Japan’s nostrils, almost making him puke again. “Who gave you the fucking right to call me by that name, you son of a bitch?” Singapore snarled.

The blood from her hand seeps into his collar, staining it a dark red.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Honda, if you ever thought we could be _friends_.” 

“I would sooner die than be your friend. I would sooner burn myself at the stake than be your friend.”

Singapore leaned in even closer, so close that Japan could almost see the electricity crackle in the miniscule space between their faces.

“I would sooner kill you right here, right now, than be your friend.” She hissed.

Maybe it was the way alcohol had addled his brain, but at that moment Japan was acutely aware of the furnace-like body pressed up against him, of the raw kinetic energy running through the arms that were pinning him against the wall, and of the cold, venom green eyes that said everything and also nothing at all. Goosebumps engulfed his body, but not because of the cold.

Suddenly, Singapore released him, letting the Japanese man slump against the wall and sink to the dirty concrete ground. Tension leaked out of Japan’s body as he exhaled the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“You’re a freak, Honda,” Singapore spat. “You’re a fucking freak and a monster. I hope you die of hypothermia. Chao cheebye.” With a final glower, she turned on her heel and made to leave.

Japan murmured something under his breath, a wheezing noise that captured Singapore’s attention and stopped her in her tracks.

“What did you just say?” She growled.

He mumbled something again, too soft for Singapore to hear. Anger and curiosity got the better of her emotions and she found herself stalking back to the Japanese man. With one hand, she grabbed his collar yet again and lifted him up until their eyes met.

“Say it to my face, _coward_.” 

And Japan laughs. 

A strangled, almost choking, noise. A noise that sent chills down Singapore’s spine, but a laugh all the same.

“Maybe I am.” He finally wheezed when his laughter had died down.

“Maybe I am a coward. But between the two of us--” Soot black eyes met poisonous green ones, saying everything and also nothing at all, “--who is the _real_ monster, Alexandria?”

Japan’s heart was fluttering in his chest like a bird who knew it was next in line to become the housecat’s meal. Why had he said that? What on earth could have compelled him to say those words to her? 

It was dark as hell and he could have dreamt it, but Japan swore that for a split-second something in Singapore’s eyes softened. In that split-second he saw vulnerability in her eyes, and something else. Guilt, sadness, yearning, desire, everything her eyes refused to say then circled around in Japan’s mind in a hurricane of mixed emotions.

The moment had passed and so had Singapore’s hidden emotions. Japan watched as Singapore slowly lifted her other arm, and tightened her free hand into a fist.

The realisation of what was going to happen next struck him at the same moment Singapore punched him across the face. Japan’s head snapped back and hit the wall behind him with a resounding crack. Bright white dots splashed across his vision as he gasped for air. He crumpled to the floor once again, but Singapore wasn’t done yet. 

A powerful wave of fury washed over Singapore, drowning out every other emotion and engulfing every non-violent thought in her head until three words remained, reverberating in her skull: _How dare he. How dare he. How dare he!_

The punches shot out faster and harder than Singapore ever thought was possible. Every blow, every hit, every drop of blood that Kiku Honda shed under her fists sent a wave of perverse satisfaction rushing through her body. Every time he had wronged Singapore manifested in every vengeful blow.

_1939_. A punch across the jaw

_1940_. A punch so hard he slammed his head back against the wall before he rebounds into another fist. 

_World War 2_. She picked him up and shook him to check if he’s still alive. When he hacks and wheezes, she throws him back on the ground only to kick him in the face. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again.

Japan’s nose was broken. A stream of blood dripped past his lips and down his chin, soaking into his rumpled clothes. A circle had begun to darken around his eyes and as Singapore finally put a pause on her assault, he turned his head to spit out a glob of bloody spittle and a tooth as he heaved in agony, his eyes screwed shut.

Singapore flinched as a wave of pain shot through both her arms. When she held her fists up under the moonlight, she could see that her knuckles had split and her hands were caked in dark stains that could only be Japan’s blood. Towering over his not-yet-dead corpse, Singapore sighed softly. Beating the shit out of her arch nemesis had been fun for a while but now that the adrenaline had worn off, Singapore just felt empty.

All the hate and anger that she had channelled into her punches had leaked out of her fists and left behind a void of nothing. She didn’t feel accomplished after beating Japan up. She didn’t feel pity watching his barely moving body slumped against a trash can. She didn’t feel angry at him for not putting up a fight.

She didn’t feel anything.

Why couldn’t she feel anything?

At that moment, Japan decided to suck in a long, rattling breath, jolting Singapore back into the present.

Kiku Honda was only mostly dead. His face was numb from the pain, his jaw was broken, and his brain was probably never going to be the same again but he was still alive. Barely.

And he was trying to stand up.

Singapore watched as Japan reached up and grasped around blindly for the top of the garbage can. When he had found it, he pushed himself up against the wall and slowly began to pull himself upwards, while using the wall to lean against for support. It was a slow and arduous process, between his bones creaking in protest and the pain flooding his body with every breath he took, on any other occasion he would have just stayed down and given up.

When he finally managed to stand on both feet, albeit with the grace of a newborn lamb, Japan slowly looked up at the woman standing just in front of him, his expression unreadable in the darkness. And then he began to fall.

“Shit--!” On instinct, Singapore’s body stepped forward and her arms caught Japan by the sides before he could land flat on his already damaged face. His head dangled limply over her shoulder, his entire weight bearing down on the other nation.

“Kiku -- Japan -- urgh--” she pushed him off her chest, holding him away at arm’s length, “What the _fuck_ are you--”

Later on, Japan would continue to wonder why he did it. Why he decided, on complete impulse, to grab Singapore by the collar, blood pounding in his ears, and close the distance between them.

It wasn’t a good kiss. Japan never got the chance to kiss a lot of people, which is unusual considering his long life, but he was sure that those kisses had never been like this. Their noses had smashed together when their lips met, his blood smeared across her face and mixing into their kiss as their teeth bumped against each other uncomfortably.

It was not a good kiss at all. And when Japan drew back he expected to be hit with another onslaught of punches and kicks, which he would have definitely deserved. He _wanted_ her to hit him, kick him, panic, run away, he wanted her to do anything, anything other than just standing there silently and staring at him.

Japan waited for Singapore’s rage to wash over them again. But the only sounds he could hear was her ragged breathing.

It felt like a million years later when, to Japan’s shock, Singapore yanked him forward into another kiss. Immediately, every nerve that hadn’t been pummeled to death ignited under Japan’s skin and he found himself kissing back with the same intensity Singapore had shown. He shivered as she tightened her grasp on his collar, her iron grip refusing to relent as she licked the blood off his lower lip before diving back into another passionate kiss.

The two enemies latched onto each other’s lips like dying men clinging onto a lifeline. Japan could smell the iron from the blood that was being smeared across their faces, he could taste the metallic liquid and the sharp tang of booze in their kiss, could hear the animalistic growl rumbling in the back of Singapore’s throat as she pushed the Japanese man up against the wall for the umpteenth time that night. He felt one of her hands start to drift lower, before settling at his hips with a sharp squeeze that made him gasp into her mouth.

Their embrace was messy, sloppy, and all kinds of wrong. They shouldn't be doing this, Japan thought as they separated for air, a thin string of bloody saliva stretched between them. They really, really, _really_ shouldn't be doing this, Japan mused as they dove back into their kiss, as heated and as passionate as before.

They shouldn't be doing this. But they were. And Japan loved her for it.

Suddenly, Singapore drew back, panting heavily. She swiped her tongue across her lips, wet from saliva and blood. She could still taste Japan’s blood on her taste buds, setting her tongue aflame with a different sort of perverse satisfaction. Japan gasps and pants under her touch, open-mouthed, desperate, struggling to pull Singapore back towards him. He makes a soft sound, like a puppy that’s been kicked, his head tipped forward slightly until their foreheads bumped into each other.

“Alexandria,” he managed to choke out, his voice, his body, his everything, dripping with desire. “ _Alexandria_.”

Even in the dark, Japan could see the way Singapore’s eyes had widened at the way he said her name. The look in her eyes was one of horror and confusion, not of bliss. In one quick move she shoved him away and stumbled backwards, as though she had touched poison.

Too much. Too fast. Too many things they haven’t said, Japan realised dimly. His heart sank in his chest. She had kissed him back, though. She had wanted this as much as he did, if her actions a few minutes ago had anything to say about it. What had happened?

“I-- what-- you--” he heard her stammer. Japan reached out with a bloody hand. She shrank away from him.

The air was ringing between them, but neither of them could say anything to break the silence.

A car passes by, its headlights briefly lighting up the alleyway. It might have been the rain that had started to fall, or maybe the light had addled Japan's vision, but it seemed as though there were tears trickling down her cheeks as she stared at him.

“...What the hell are we doing?” Singapore finally whispered, more to herself than to Japan.

Japan would have answered, or he _could_ have answered, had Singapore not lashed out and jabbed two fingers into his throat. His pharynx instantly caved in, and so did his feet beneath him. 

He felt Singapore rummaging through his clothes, pulling out his wallet and phone, and saw her mouthing the words _I’m sorry_ before disappearing into the night. But he might have dreamt it.

Japan stayed on the ground, letting the raindrops wash the blood off his face and lips and soak into his clothes. He didn’t remember being found, his final thoughts were wondering how everything went wrong before darkness took him

* * *

When Japan woke up, he knew instantly that he wasn’t in his hotel room.

For one, his hotel room was immaculate and practically spotless. He took great pride in keeping his room neat and tidy, and he had been very flattered when the hotel housekeeper had left a note once telling him there was nothing for her to clean as his room was already in tip-top condition.

His room was the pinnacle of cleanliness. The one he had woken up in was not.

Briefly, Kiku Honda wondered if he had been kidnapped by a bunch of teenagers. Posters of various movies, bands and, strangely enough, fast-food franchises were plastered around the rather large room. Numerous video game memorabilia could be found around the room, a rather astounding mix of souvenirs from retro and newer games lined the shelves on the walls. A rather large chair-drobe sat in the corner with a week’s worth of yet-to-be-washed clothing dumped onto a lone chair. Despite the impressive chair-drobe, there were stray clothes still strewn about the floor and stuffed in places they probably shouldn’t be in. 

Japan winced slightly as he sat up before gently patting himself down. His ribs were fine, his throat still hurt a little but it probably won’t affect the way he spoke. When he moved his legs to get off the bed (he noted how he was wearing someone else’s pajamas, PAC-man patterned and a few sizes too big) and checked himself in the full- length mirror, he could see that the swelling on his face and jaw had died down, but the faint blue-black marks around his eyes still remained. 

He grimaced, winced when his face ached, then sighed. Maybe he should have fought back after all. The repercussions hadn’t been worth it.

He made his way out, following an enticing smell of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. When he finally came to the end of the hallway, he was met with a man with unruly blonde hair humming happily to himself as he flipped hash browns in a pan.

Of course. Why hadn’t he realised it sooner?

“Ohayo, American-kun.” Japan said. America whipped his head around, his face lighting up the moment he saw the other man.

“Yo, Kiku! Good morning dude, how’re you feeling?” He asked cheerfully as he moved the hashbrowns out of the pan and onto a plate. “Take a seat bro, breakfast is on me!”

“I’ve been better,” Japan replied as he took a seat at the dining table.

“Thank you for the breakfast, America-kun.”

America waved his spatula dismissively. “You don’t need to thank me, dude. I’m more than happy to make breakfast, especially since you got the shit beaten out of you last night. I mean, this morning.”

“Ah.” Japan didn’t know how else to respond.

America set down a large plate in front of him before going to sit next to Japan with his own plate. Both plates had a stack of golden-brown pancakes topped with a large serving of whipped cream and blueberries, greasy fried eggs paired with piping hot bacon, and hash browns. On any other day, Japan would have grimaced at the large portion of breakfast food, but once he took a bite of the wonderfully fluffy pancakes, he realised just how hungry he was. 

“Syrup’s over here if you want it.” America said, pointing to a jug as Japan wolfed down his breakfast. 

“And slow down, man! I don’t want you choking or something.” 

“G-gomen, America-kun,” Japan stammered through a mouthful of eggs and bacon, “It’s been a rough night for me.”

“Oh, dude, you have NO idea,” America scoffed, “You looked like you got run over by a combine or something when I found you. Your blood was _everywhere_ bro, I thought you were dead when I found you.”

“How _did_ you find me, America-kun?”

“Oh my god, dude, it was soooo _weird_. I got this super freaky text on my phone telling me to go this alleyway, except it was like 2 in the morning and I was about to go and sleep so when I saw the text from the mystery number I was like, ‘what the fuck?’, I got so freaking scared bro. I thought my phone was haunted or something, like, can you imagine my phone being haunted by some ghost? That would be fucking terrifying! Man, that would be a cool movie though. Can you imagine a movie about a ghost haunting someone’s phone? I think that’ll be a cool--”

“America-kun, please.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Anyways, yeah, I got a text from a weird number, went to the alleyway, found you all beaten up, brought you home and nursed you back to health!”

Japan raised an eyebrow. 

America threw up his hands. “Fine, I didn’t ‘nurse you back to health’ per say, but I made you this totally awesome breakfast! That’s gotta count for something!”

Despite everything, Japan couldn’t help but smile, “Yes, your breakfast was greatly appreciated. Thank you again, America-kun.”

“It’s nothing a hero can’t handle! Also, I tried tracing back the text to find the sender but I got nothing. Maybe my phone really was haunted, and you got saved by a ghost! Isn’t that wicked?” America beamed, shoving more syrupy pancakes into his mouth.

It was a ghost alright. A ghost from Japan’s past. A ghost he knew he had to face again. 

“But if it _was_ a person, I would totally beat them up if I found out who they were. A hero like me would never stand for this kind of injustice!”

“I know.”

“Oh, yeah, you got mugged too. Your phone and wallet are gone, man. And your clothes too. There was too much blood and garbage water on them so I threw them away.”

“Oh.”

“You could totally skip today’s meeting if you want, or I could drop you off at the hotel in, er, less casual clothes.” 

“That would be appreciated.”

* * *

That afternoon during the World Meeting, it was as if Japan was completely invisible. This was unusual because Japan’s new appearance was what everyone seemed to be talking about today. He’s gotten many get-well-soon messages from his friends, Germany, Italy, and China being particularly concerned about him but Japan had waved them off.

Japan was invisible to one person. And despite his busted up face being the new gossip among the nations, that one person had yet to wish him swift recovery.

Every time he tried to catch Singapore’s attention, she either walked away or started talking to another nation. Even when the meeting had started, she hadn’t so much as looked in the general direction of Japan’s seat and had been exchanging notes and quips with her neighbour, Slovakia.

Japan was a very patient man, but everything that had happened this morning and Singapore’s decision to pretend like nothing ever happened was starting to irritate him. Instead of listening to nations give their presentations about the best ways to reduce food shortage in third-world countries, Japan spent most of the meeting tapping his fingers on his table, fuming quietly.

Part of his anger was because of Singapore’s stand-offish attitude. The other part came from the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get the images of their encounter out of his head. He could still feel Singapore’s hand at his side, her body pressed up against his. Japan reached up and brushed the front of his neck where Singapore had jabbed him before running off, the skin was still sensitive and he shivered as his fingers made contact with the area. His head jerked back slightly, jarring himself from the memory.

God. He wanted to get out of here.

It turned out he wouldn’t have to wait too long as a few minutes later Germany, mercifully, called for an early recess. Nations started getting up from their seats, idly chatting and milling among themselves. Japan stood up and stretched, groaning in relief. When he turned to leave, he was met with an outstretched hand holding a note.

Japan furrowed his eyebrows and looked up. For a heart-stopping second, he thought it was Singapore’s eyes he was looking into. Then he blinked, and Switzerland’s mint-green eyes glowered back at him.

“Singapore told me to give this to you.” He said curtly, shoving the note into Japan’s hands, almost making the shorter man jump. The note simply read: **Lunchtime. Behind the building.**

“I don’t know why she wanted me to give this to you and frankly I have no interest,” Switzerland retorted in standard Swiss fashion. “Good day to you, Japan.”

He paused. “And... get well soon.”

“Uh, yes, good day to you too Switzerland-san.”

Switzerland walked off, leaving Japan to struggle with his emotions on his own. He was terrified, intrigued, hopeful, and annoyed all at once. On one hand, he’s relieved that Singapore had come around and wanted to talk. On the other, it might just be a ruse to get him alone so that she could beat him up again. Regardless of how he felt, Japan knew that avoiding this meeting would do more harm than good. 

He just hoped he was ready this time.

* * *

It was like something out of a fairy tale. When the Netherlands had told Japan all those years ago that there was a secret garden behind the UN Building, his first thought was to laugh. He’s not laughing now, but that was mostly because he was trying to contain his uneasiness.

The secret garden in the shade of the UN building was small, but the myriad of vibrant, multi-coloured flowers blooming all over the place made up for the small space. Just about every hue and shade of colour could be found if one looked hard enough. A single towering willow tree stood stark against the conglomeration of tiny flowers, its drooping branches swaying languidly in the wind. Below the expanse of leaves sat a bench, and on the bench was Japan’s ghost.

Dressed in a crisp suit as dark as the night, Singapore lifted her cigarette to her lips and exhaled a cloud of smoke as a form of greeting. Japan scrunched up his nose at the acrid smell of cigarette smoke, stopping just a few meters away from Singapore. She stared at him for a few moments, her expression unreadable, before quietly jerking her head towards the empty seat next to her. 

Japan’s feet moved on their own accord, and soon he was seated next to her. He was suddenly aware of how small the bench was, and how beneath her halo of cigarette smoke, she had the aroma of flowers and alcohol clinging to her suit. It wasn’t as unpleasant as he thought it would have smelled.

Singapore dropped the cigarette onto the gravel floor and quickly stubbed out the smouldering end with her shoe.

“We need to talk.” She said. Japan had been afraid of this.

“Since when did you smoke?” He countered.

“I don’t. I only smoke after I’ve been fucked over by some asshole.”

Japan’s heart sank. He was the asshole.

“I’m not proud of it.” She clarified.

“...M-may I have my wallet and phone back please?”

Singapore dug out both items and shoved it into his hands before he could even utter a ‘thank you’.

“Did you take my valuables to stage a robbery or--?”

“If I had left your valuables with you, America would know that it was one of us who beat you up. I can’t risk the Yankee breathing down my neck right now. Staging it as a robbery was the safest option for me.”

“And you’re changing the subject. We need to talk about what happened this morning. About what you did.”

Japan stayed silent, trying to come up with something, anything he could say to justify his actions from last night.

“Why did you even do it?” Singapore asked, turning to look at him. “I beat the shit out of you, so why did you kiss me?”

“I...I…” Japan trailed off.

Because he wanted to, he realised with a pang. Because he had wanted to for a while now. Because even though Singapore hated him with all her guts, even though she beat him up, even though she could have almost killed him last night, nothing would have changed the fact that he kissed her because he wanted to. 

Maybe they were both freaks after all.

“I wanted to.” He answered honestly. “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Without giving her time to react, Japan prompted the question,“Why did you kiss me back, Alex-san?”

Shock crossed Singapore’s face. Then confusion. Uncertainty. She opened her mouth to answer, but changed her mind and snapped her jaws shut before turning away from him.

“I… I don’t know.” She said, as though she was admitting to a crime. “I hate you. I really hate you but... I don’t know why I kissed back.”

“Why did you stop then?”

Japan didn’t need to see her face to know that it had darkened.

“You called me by my first name. The last time you did that was ages ago. Back before the war. Before you invaded.” She started to massage her temples.

“Hearing you say it like… that, I don’t know, everything just came rushing back to me and I realised what I was doing.” 

“We can’t do this anymore, Honda.” She murmured, sitting back to let her head hang over the bench. 

“We need to stop doing… whatever fucked up thing it is that we’re doing.”

“Which is?”

“This,” she motioned between the two of them, “We’re dancing around something that neither of us want to say, and because of that we’re taking it out on each other in unhealthy ways. We’re toxic.”

She laughed, a shrill and cold noise. “We’re _actually_ toxic.”

“I’m not dancing around anything, Alex. I already told you I kissed you because I wanted to. Maybe your reasons aren’t so different from mine.”

“No. No, no, no, _no_ , there is no way in hell I wanted to kiss you, don’t put words in my mouth, Honda.” She hissed.

“I refuse to believe that you kissed back because of any other reason.”

“It was the alcohol!”

Japan narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you told yourself when you french-kissed me in an alleyway?”

“OKAY, that’s it--!” 

Singapore grabbed his collar with one hand, her other fist poised for another devastating blow. Instinctively Japan flinched, shrinking away from his attacker. 

The punch never came.

Japan dared to open his eyes. Where fury once was, realisation had taken over as Singapore’s expression. Her grip on his collar loosened, allowing Japan to pull himself free from her grasp.

“Shit.” She stared at Japan, then down at the hand she almost punched him with. 

“Fuck.”

Singapore deflated, sinking back into the bench. 

“We almost did it again,” she croaked out, her head in her hands, “I _can’t_ believe we almost did it again.”

“I really am a monster, aren’t I?” 

A shameful part of Kiku felt bad for her. Despite everything she had done, and almost did, he still felt sorry for her.

And that’s when he decided that enough was enough.

“Alex, I want to help you. But you need to help me too.” He started slowly, trying to find the right words.

“Tell me what you need. What do you want me to do? If you never tell me anything, I’ll never know how to help you. I’ll never talk to you ever again if that’s what you want me to do. I’ll never even look at your direction again. I want whatever we are to stop as much as you do, so please, Alex, tell me--”

“You need to STOP, Kiku!” She suddenly exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air.

“Stop being so nice! Stop liking everything I like! Stop taking my side in almost every meeting! Stop laughing at jokes that aren’t even funny because you’re trying to be polite. Stop giving me that look like you know everything’s going to be okay, and everything’s going to be fine when it's not. Stop…”

Her shoulders slumped, arms falling to the sides. She looked so tired, so old.

“...Stop giving me more reasons to… to…” 

She opened her mouth to finish, but thought better of it and shook her head instead.

“I’m not gonna say it, especially not to you. You already know what it is.”

Singapore stood up, wiping her tears away before shoving her hands into her pockets.

“We’re going back to our original arrangement. I’ll make fun of you in meetings and twenty different countries will blindly jump to your defense while you’re left stammering by yourself. Nothing changes.” _Everything’s changed already._

Silence.

“It’s better this way, really.” _A profound lie._

Singapore waited for a protest.

“...I’m going to go now.” _She didn’t want to._

Still, nothing.

Singapore was not the most giving person. But she would have given anything in the world for Kiku to call her to stop. Any prized possession at all, just for the man she loathed with all her heart to tell her to come back to him. Laughable, but neither of them were laughing. 

Neither of them will be laughing for a while.

Gravel crunches under Singapore’s heels as she trudged away from the Japanese man. Then silence again.

The ringing in Japan’s ear suddenly ceased. When he looked up from staring at the ground, he realised that the sun was directly above him, shining down on him and the secret garden. Warmth seeped into Japan’s bones, filling his body with a calm sensation. He should be relaxed right now, he should be happy because the woman who had caused him so much pain and suffering in the past 12 hours was far, far, away from him. He should be happy.

So why did he still feel so _damn_ sad?

Japan stayed on the bench for a long time, waiting for someone who would never come. 

Shedding silent tears for feelings he never had.

Yearning for touches he never needed.

Always, perpetually, terrified of losing something he never found.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'll be writing the MOST violent alternative version of Changing Seasons soon so stay tuned...
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Kudos, comments, and criticism appreciated!


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